March 22nd, 2018, 5:30am
Von Karma Estate
Franziska von Karma sat in her favorite chair, unsuccessfully trying to make the buzzing in her mind go away. She was notorious for needing very little sleep even when she was a youth, and she was never subject to the sleepiness that often afflicted teenagers. On this night, she did not even bother to lie in bed. She was too emotional to sleep, for many reasons.
First, it was the week of the anniversary of her mother's death. Even though she had died 17 years ago during her first year of life, it was still immensely painful to think of her and what she had missed out on. Her sister Caroline was able to follow the path in life she wanted in international diplomacy, but she had no choice but to be a prosecutor. Her father had made sure of that.
She wondered if that would have been different if she had not died. She was forlorn at the thoughts of all the moments she never had a chance to share with her mother. Her first steps, her first words, learning to bake (Caroline told her that their mother adored baking), riding horses. She needed to figure out how to handle her development into womanhood alone as she was too embarrassed to ask anyone on the staff for help or advice. Caroline did her best, but she was not her mother. Manfred had cowed both girls into obedience, but their mother defied him because divorce would be imperfect and she made it clear that if he abused her or the children she would expose him.
Without her protection, and with Caroline sent to the Court of St. James's as her first assignment, Franziska was defenseless. That was where her obsession with her whip came from. She had been helpless and unwillingly obedient her whole life. Now others would obey her or else. She wished that she didn't have to rely on it so much, and maybe if Mama had lived she never would have needed it.
Second, she had the stress of a major trial looming the next morning. This whole affair had been nothing short of an ordeal. The murder of a public figure like Juan Corrida had her dealing with reporters more than she was accustomed to. Perhaps oddly for someone who worked in a public position, Franziska could not stand being around large groups of people, especially the particularly foolish type that worked as reporters. But that wasn't half of her issues with this case.
Another was the defendant's manager, the pretty blonde named Adrian Andrews. Franziska knew that she had messed with the crime scene in some way to incriminate Matt Engarde, but it was truly unnecessary since everything pointed to him even away from the crime scene. Her father had always taught her to follow Occam's Razor and even though it had led her to two defeats here in America, she had yet to find a better way. She had the feeling that there was another piece to the puzzle that she was missing, but it did not interest her. She had her killer.
So she leveled with Andrews, telling her to describe the scene as she left it, and if the defense pressed her too hard, to refuse to testify further. In return, she would overlook her tampering and keep her out of jail. Andrews rather swiftly capitulated, to her shock.
There was someone about Adrian Andrews that Franziska empathized with. She couldn't put a finger on it, but Andrews' eyes bore an expression she had seen in her own reflection. Pain, loss, and humiliation. She knew she had tried to kill herself at least once. She wanted to reach out to her, but did not know how. She had never had a friend before, and was not going to risk being rejected. But she would do everything in her power to protect her. Matt Engarde was a killer, and she would not allow him to harm her any longer.
She was also livid over her discovery that Scruffy had been leaking results of the investigation to the defense. The hulking, dimwitted man had given her incomplete information regarding the Turner Grey crime scene (that was her story and she was sticking to it, damn it!). And then he had cajoled her to search Ken Dingling's apartment which led her to disaster once again. This was the very last straw. She had been betrayed by people who were supposed to be loyal to her for too long, and Scruffy was going to suffer the consequences.
But the greatest source of anxiety was that the blue suited fool Phoenix Wright had taken up Matt Engarde's defense. The man's humiliation of her in the Fey trial still haunted her dreams. Whenever he was around, she lost the ability to think clearly. The anger that gripped her soul flared hotly whenever the man spoke. Who did he think he was?! How could such a foolish man have beaten her, her father, and Miles Edgeworth?!
Miles Edgeworth. The only person in the world she had ever bonded with besides her sister. She had always felt a connection with him from the day she greeted him in her father's car. She had taken it upon herself to acclimate him to the rigid routine that was life in the von Karma house. In return, he had opened her eyes to the wonders of literature. She became a voracious reader of almost anything she could get her hands on, and enjoyed discussing books with him.
Manfred saw the connection between them and started playing them off against each other as much as he could, but he could not break their bond. As a way of disguising it from her father, they started interacting over a chessboard. They would talk about anything and everything, with Manfred none the wiser as they hid it under the guise of a competitive rivalry. Miles was a greatly talented player and dominated their early matches, but Franziska improved over the years to the point that she was the only person to ever beat him while she was using the black pieces (she never let him live it down).
Even after Miles had left for England to continue his legal studies, they continued to play online daily. It was a bond that kept them sane. Franziska desperately needed to maintain at least some kind of connection to him to handle her resentment of him for leaving her alone with her father. After Miles' first loss, he confessed to Franziska during their game that he was contemplating quitting since he was now imperfect. Franziska's reply as she went up a pawn was laced with tough love (it was the only love she knew), but it greatly helped him pull himself together and continue prosecuting. Even after Manfred was revealed as the murderer of Gregory Edgeworth, they played. Franziska was devastated over what her father had done, but Miles insisted that Manfred was his own man, and his sins did not affect his opinion of her.
But after his superior was put on trial in a case he once again lost, she tried to find him online for a game but couldn't. He did not answer his phone either. She was greatly worried, but when she read the Los Angeles Times a few days later she saw five words that tore her soul out: Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death. How could he do that to her?! He had always known she was there for him! Why would he not tell her if he was so despondent that he was contemplating suicide?! She didn't understand.
Caroline was little help, as Franziska had never been this emotional before and Caroline had no idea how to handle it. She had always been short-tempered, but Franziska was almost totally out of control in her pain over Miles' disappearance. She had to know what had happened to him. She would uncover what drove Miles to such a drastic action, and those responsible would suffer for the rest of their days.
Two humiliating losses and one paternal execution later, Franziska was completely broken emotionally. She was becoming more and more violent and verbally abusive by the day. She knew a breaking point was coming soon, either she would completely disintegrate or something would happen to show her the way out of this whirlwind of feelings she could not comprehend. Then Miles Edgeworth dropped back into her life and proceeded to humiliate her in front of Phoenix Wright. She was ready to scream to the heavens in anger and hurt.
She stormed back to her home and threw a massive tantrum in the privacy of her room. After nearly thirty minutes of non-stop raging, she heard her phone go off. It was a text from Miles asking for a chess game. She angrily and crudely declined, and threw her phone in her purse to have it out of sight and out of mind. She stayed up the entire night poring over the notes and reports of the Engarde trial. He was guilty as sin. She would put his neck in the noose and Phoenix Wright would suffer the bitter taste of defeat by her hand.
When the time finally arrived for her to begin her journey to the courthouse, she was almost giddy. Today would be the day all of these demons would be exorcised from her mind and soul! She knew it! She arrived at her parking spot at 7:54 sharp, as always. She exited her car and began to walk the three blocks between her preferred parking garage and the courthouse. As she passed the small bakery and coffee shop at about the halfway point that she had taken a liking to, she heard a crack ring out and she stopped in complete shock as a projectile slammed into her right shoulder. She felt nothing for a few seconds and then the pain burst like a bomb in her brain and tore through every nerve in her body. She let out a primal, animalistic howl off pain and horror as her legs gave out and she collapsed to the pavement clutching her injured shoulder. Her purse had flown out of reach when the bullet had entered her body, and as she was crawling towards it in a desperate attempt to phone for help, she heard footsteps running towards her. Had her assailant come to finish her off? When she dared to open her eyes, she was staring into the wide, shocked eyes of Miles Edgeworth. Why him?! Why did he have to be the one to see me like this?!
"Franziska, talk to me! Can you hear me?!" he cried out. He was clearly filled with worry for her.
"There is no need to shout, Miles Edgeworth! I can hear you just fine," she snarled, intending to sound nonchalant about it, but the quailing in her voice gave her away. She was in agony.
"Are you able to walk? There is a hospital a block away," he stated more calmly than before, relieved at getting a response.
"I AM NOT GOING TO A HOSPITAL, MILES EDGEWORTH!" she screamed with all the strength she had left in her body. She could see Miles' jaw hang open slightly for a moment before it closed again resolutely.
"I shall not allow you to destroy yourself more than you already have, Franziska," he nearly growled, fixing her with the gaze that made people squirm when they were subjected to it.
Franziska was unfazed. "I will not allow you to take this away from me, you treasonous fool!"
Miles' heart broke at what had become of her over the last year. He knew she was struggling, but not like this. Franziska was always proud, but she was downright self-destructive now. And he knew that he was partially to blame. Hers was such a lonely soul, and his disappearance, he realized, had crushed her. She had no one else to truly lean on. No one who understood. Her quixotic quest to defeat Phoenix was gut-wrenching as her watched this proud, brilliant woman try so desperately to find something resembling a purpose.
"Franziska, please," he pleaded from the bottom of his soul. I can't lose you now, not after I finally found the way of the truth. You kept me sane enough that my conscience was not completely destroyed by Manfred's poison. But I at least had memories of my father and Wright to fall back on. You had nothing but him. Please, let me help you.
His heartfelt plea apparently resonated, as Franziska's eyes softened and allowed some of the immense pain to show. "Fine," she sighed in resignation. Miles helped her sit up and then proceeded to remove her brooch, undo her cravat, and tear the cloth on her shoulder to expose the wound. It was an ugly sight, but he was able to see that there was no exit wound so the bullet was still in her shoulder.
"Why on Earth or you shredding my blouse, you foolish man?!" she growled with all the indignation she could muster.
"I'm making a tourniquet. You're likely losing a tremendous amount of blood if your sleeve is any indication," he explained coolly as he tied the cloth on the inside of her shoulder. It probably would have gotten him drummed out of Army training, but it at least slowed the blood flow and bought them some time.
Franziska chanced a glance at her useless right arm and saw that her sleeve was nearly soaked through, a sight that made her even queasier than she already was. She was used to blood, but seeing her own was causing her a greater amount of distress than she cared to admit. She finally found her voice, tiredly muttering "Very well, if you insist."
Miles placed his right arm around her back and clamped his left hand on her uninjured shoulder as he helped her rise, slinging her purse into his shoulder and picking up her briefcase. He had every intention of filling in for her whether she liked it or not. She was certainly on the right track with her suspicion of Engarde, but something was gnawing at him about the case. It was almost too tidy for such a setup, and he worried that she had cut corners on account of her obsession over beating Phoenix. Engarde was clearly the prime suspect and he believed that she and Gumshoe were right to arrest him, but he also believed there was more dirt to dig up that Franziska, trapped in the methods Manfred had taught her, likely would have ignored in her push for the guilty verdict she craved so desperately.
He heard the sirens coming and decided it would be best to get Franziska to the hospital swiftly, before the police and the press arrived. He'd handle them later, after she had received the care she needed. Fortunately Franziska was able to walk at a normal pace with his support. At first she tried to head towards the courthouse, so in exasperation he took her left hand from her shoulder, wrapped his hand around the wrist, and firmly pulled her towards the Hotti Clinic, ignoring her angered yelp of protest. He kept his hand firmly on her wrist until they arrived, knowing that she'd try to run to court if he let go. He knew her too well.
The staff quickly rushed to her aid as soon as they entered, and Miles could tell that Franziska was fading as she allowed them to sit her in a wheelchair with little fuss. As they left to prepare a room for her, he sat in a chair next to her and simply gazed at her for a moment.
She looked completely shattered, but he noticed with amazement that she had not allowed a single tear to fall. He racked his brain thinking of any way he could comfort her without pricking that damnable egotistic pride that Manfred had instilled in both of them. Glancing into Franziska's purse, he caught a glimpse of an object that would accomplish the task for him.
He carefully removed her whip and placed it into her left hand. She gazed at it momentarily and then shakily brought it up to her chest, holding it like a child would hold a security blanket. Miles would have laughed at her juvenile behavior if it wasn't so sad. She had to grow up even faster than I did. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, inhaling the scent of the leather, and when she reopened her eyes she saw that Miles had opened her briefcase and was looking through HER research.
"Just what do you think you're doing now, Miles Edgeworth?!" she heatedly questioned.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm preparing myself to replace you this morning," he matter-of-factly stated.
"NO! This is my case! My victory! My revenge on all of you!" she raged. She began to raise her right arm in a gesture of anger, but the second she did so the pain tore through her body and cut her rant short. Miles sighed inwardly, then began to gently make his case. I knew this would be more difficult than it really should be. She's always been tenaciously stubborn.
"Franziska, think logically. If no prosecutor arrives when court convenes, Engarde will be found not guilty and released. Looking at what you've compiled, that would be a miscarriage of justice. And, judging by that display a few seconds ago, you would not be able to argue your case effectively. You are in too much pain and you're still weak from blood loss. You'd likely pass out before lunch. So please, go get the bullet removed, get a blood transfusion, and recover," he argued. Please listen, for your own sake, and for mine. I abandoned you once, I don't ever intend on doing it again. It's high time someone actually took care of you. She bore an uncertain, hesitant expression, so he went to his ace in the hole. "And besides, if you do pass out, Phoenix Wright will have beaten you again."
That deflated her. She couldn't bring herself to audibly agree to this, so she simply nodded. They sat in silence for a few moments until the orderly arrived to prepare to transport her to the operating room. "I will ensure that you get a fresh set of clothes, Franziska," he said quietly, placing her purse in her arms. He knew she would not accept the indignity of a hospital gown.
"Miles, there is something you need to know," she croaked out. "Adrian Andrews did not kill Corrida. She foolishly altered the scene, but she is not a killer." That caught him off guard. Franziska generally was not cryptic in the way she spoke, so this was troubling. He'd have to read up on the crime scene and Adrian Andrews in greater detail before the trial began. "I see," he stated. "Is there anything else I should know?" She shook her head.
"Very well. I shall take my leave now," he announced, giving his traditional bow.
"Miles," she called softly, beckoning him to her. He leaned towards her, but was surprised when her good arm grabbed his shoulder and pulled him close to her. She leaned next to his ear and almost inaudibly whispered "Thank you."
He nodded and gently smiled, standing fully upright again. "Farewell, Franziska," he said as he picked up the briefcase. As he turned and headed to the exit, a grin came to his face as he heard a clang and the crack of a whip, followed by Franziska's voice excoriating the "foolish klutz of an orderly." She'll be just fine. He stopped at the desk to ensure that he and Caroline were listed as Franziska's contacts so he could get updates once the procedure was finished. After he had exited the hospital he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number that Gumshoe had given him. The owner answered on the fourth ring.
"Hello, Officer Byrde? I require your assistance with something."
The end… for now
A/N: Thanks so much for reading this! This is the first piece of fiction I have written in about 15 years, so I'm probably a little rusty. This is the first in a collection of Fredgeworth one-shots that I'll be working on, although writing is a little laborious for me so I'll update infrequently. Other stories will be a bit more dialogue driven than this one, but with this I wanted the silent, unspoken bond to show (well, that and Fran has a hole in her shoulder). If anyone has ideas, let me know. If the muse strikes, I'll give it a whirl.
